The Marriage Resolution. Penny Jordan

hired that it could be saved, and not just saved but returned to its original splendour.

      All the time and effort she had put into achieving its restoration had been well worthwhile, just for that wonderful moment when at a special ceremony the county’s Lord Lieutenant had declared it officially ‘open’ and she had seen the name she had had recarved and gilded above the doorway illuminated by the strategically placed lighting she had had installed.

      ‘Lawson House’.

      And on the wall there was an elegant and discreet scrolled plaque, explaining to those who read it that the money to purchase and renovate the house had been provided posthumously by her father in his memory. And it was in his memory that its upper storey was going to be employed as office accommodation for the special charities which Dee maintained and headed, whilst the lower ground floor was to be used as a specially equipped social area for people of all ages with special needs, a meeting place, a café, a reading room—all those things and more.

      And above its handsome marble fireplace she had placed a specially commissioned portrait of her father, which the artist had created from Dee’s own photographs.

      ‘I wish I could have known him. He must have been the most wonderful man,’ Kelly had once commented warmly when Dee had been talking to her about her father.

      ‘He was,’ Dee had confirmed.

      Her father had had the kind of analytical brain that had enabled him to make a fortune out of trading stocks and shares. With that fortune he had philanthropically set about discreetly helping his fellow men. It was from him that Dee had inherited her own desire to help others, and it was in his name that she continued the uniquely personal local charity which he had established.

      And it wasn’t just his desire to help his fellow men that Dee had inherited from her father. She had also inherited his shrewd financial acumen. Her father’s wealth had made her financially independent and secure for the rest of her life. Dee did not need to earn a living, and so, instead, she had turned her attention and her skills to the thing that had been closest to her father’s heart after his love for her.

      As the financial brain behind all the charities her father had established, as well as their chairperson, Dee had made sure that the charities’ assets were secure and profitable—and, just as important, that their money was invested not just profitably but sensitively so far as not taking advantage of other people was concerned.

      All in all, Dee knew that she had a lot to be grateful for. The friendship which had sprung up between her and the two younger women, Beth and Kelly, who rented the shop premises from her, and Anna, too, had added a very welcome and heart-warming extra strand to her life. Dee was part of a large extended family that had its roots in the area’s farming community and which went back for many generations; she had the pleasure of knowing that she had faithfully adhered to all the principles her father had taught her, and that her father himself was remembered and lauded by his fellow citizens.

      A lot to be grateful for, yes, but she still couldn’t help thinking about when…But, no, she wasn’t going to dwell on that—not today—not any day, she informed herself firmly. Just because seeing Anna’s pregnant state and Beth and Kelly’s happiness had made her so sharply conscious of the void which existed in her own life that did not mean…

      Above her head the sky was a vivid spring blue decorated with fluffy white clouds whipped along by the breeze. The Easter eggs which had filled shop windows in recent weeks had been removed to make way for flowers and posters advertising the town’s special May Day celebration, which had its roots in the ancient May Day Fair which had originally been held in the town in medieval times.

      There would be a procession of floats, sponsored in the main these days by corporate bodies, a funfair in the town square, a bonfire and fireworks, and, since she was on the committee planning and co-ordinating the whole affair, Dee knew that she was going to be busy.

      Amusingly, she had been shown an old document recently, listing the rules which applied to anyone bringing sheep, cattle or other livestock into the town on May Day. The modern-day equivalent was making rules for the extra volume of traffic the Fair caused.

      Babies were still on Dee’s mind when she eventually got home. A second cousin on her mother’s side had recently had twins, and Dee made a mental note to buy them something special. She had heard on the family grapevine that she was going to be asked to be their godmother. It was a wonderful compliment, Dee knew, but, oh, how it made her heart ache. Just the mere act of holding those precious little bundles of love would make her whole body ache so!

      In an effort to give her mind a different and more appropriate turn of direction, she decided that she ought to do some work. Strength of will and the ability to follow through on one’s personal plans were, her father had always told her, very positive assets, and to be admired. Perhaps they were, but over the years Dee had become slightly cynically aware that so far as the male sex was concerned a strong-minded woman was often someone to be feared rather than admired, and resented rather than loved.

      Dee switched on her computer, telling herself firmly that it was silly to pursue such unprofitable thoughts. But it was true, a rebellious part of her brain insisted on continuing, that men liked women who were illogical, women who were vulnerable, women who were feminine and needed them to help and protect them. She was not like that, at least not outwardly. For a start she was tall—elegantly so, her female friends often told her enviously. Her body was slim and supple, she enjoyed walking and swimming—and dancing—and she was always the first one her younger nieces and nephews wanted to join in their energetic games whenever there was a family get-together.

      She wore her thick honey-coloured straight hair long, primarily because she found it easier to manage that way, often coiling it up in the nape of her neck in a style which complemented her classically elegant bone structure. Whilst she had been at university she had been approached in the street by the owner of an up-market model agency who had told her that she had all the potential to become a model, but Dee had simply laughed at her, totally unaware of the dramatic impact of her timeless elegance.

      Over the years, if anything that impact had heightened, rather than lessened, and although Dee herself was unaware of it she was now a woman whom others paused to glance at discreetly a second time in the street. The reason so many men appeared to be intimidated by her was not, as she herself imagined, her strength of will, but in actual fact the way she looked. That look combined with the classically stylish clothes she tended to favour meant that in most men’s eyes Dee was a woman they considered to be out of their league.

      Dee frowned as she studied the screen in front of her. One of the new small charities she had taken under her wing was not attracting the kind of public support it needed. She would have to see if there was some way they could give it a higher profile. Somewhere for teenagers to meet, listen to their music and dance might not have the appeal of helping to provide for the more obviously needy, but it was still a cause which, in Dee’s opinion, was very deserving.

      Perhaps she should speak to Peter Macauley about it. Her father’s old friend and her own retired university tutor shared her father’s philanthropic beliefs and ideals. A bachelor, and wealthy, having inherited family money, he had already asked Dee to be one of the executors of his will because he knew that she would see that his wishes and bequests were carried out just as he would want them to be. He was on the main committee appointed by her father to control the funds he had bequested to finance his charities.

      Thinking of Peter Macauley caused Dee to pause in what she was doing. He was not recovering from the operation he had had some months ago as quickly as he should have been, and the last time Dee had driven to Lexminster to see him she had been upset to see how frail he was looking.

      He had lived in the university town all his adult life, and Dee knew how strenuously he would resist any attempt on her part to cajole him into moving to Rye-on-Averton, where she could keep a closer eye on him, never mind how he would react to any suggestion that he should move in with her. But the four-storey house he occupied in the shelter of the town’s ancient university was far too large for him to manage, especially with its steep flights of stairs. He had friends in the